


What Comes After

by dreisang (gonnaflynow)



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Spoilers, takes place post-chapter 3 for Primrose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 12:31:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16040543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gonnaflynow/pseuds/dreisang
Summary: Closure: that was what they all sought. But Primrose couldn’t help comparing herself to Olberic.A post Primrose chapter 3 study because there were some similarities between her + Simeon and Olberic + Erhardt that I just couldn’t ignore.





	What Comes After

Olberic could only be found in one place at this time of day: behind the inn, cloth in hand, meticulously cleaning his blade in the dusky twilight. His hard-lined grimace had given way to something unguarded, eyes soft as he worked oil into the steel and leather. 

Primrose was loath to interrupt him, but she didn’t think he would mind some quiet company.

She approached from the side, mindful to scuff her feet a little on the cobblestone so she wouldn’t startle him (not that Olberic seemed to be particularly prone to startling). After braving the scorching heat of the deep desert and the bitter winds of the Frostlands, it was nice to be somewhere with a more reasonable climate, light breezes and sparse clouds beckoning in a calm evening, where she didn’t have to borrow H’aanit’s furs or make frequent trips to the well to refill the waterskins. 

Even if that somewhere was Noblecourt.

Primrose swore as her sandal caught on the edge of an uneven stone, one hand reaching towards the wall to steady herself, the other reflexively curling around her abdomen to protect the newly-healed knife wound. This finally caught Olberic’s attention; he looked up, brows furrowed.

“Are you alright?” His bottom lip was worried ever so slightly; it was likely he was waging an internal battle between extending a helping hand or, knowing her pride, keeping it to himself. 

Primrose took a deep breath. Her toes stung, but they would heal quickly. 

“I am. May I sit?”

“Of course.”

She sat. Olberic hesitated for a moment before returning to his blade, bottom lip fully in his mouth now as he concentrated on the intricate crest near the hilt. Primrose leaned backwards until her shoulder blades were gingerly pressed to the wall and let out a thin sigh, wound throbbing in time with her pulse. 

“It gets better,” Olberic murmured.

“What does,” Primrose scoffed, “the injury or the betrayal?” 

“...both.” 

“Which heals first?”

Olberic smiled sadly, sheathing his blade and tucking it behind the bench. He turned to Primrose and tilted his head, gesturing at the scar on his left temple.

“You know the story of why I travel with you.”

Primrose nodded. “The knight, Erhardt.”

Olberic’s eyes hardened. “This was his doing, in our final duel. The twin blades of Hornburg, one turned traitor, steel meeting over bloodied ground and the body of the dead king.”

Primrose barely stifled a gasp. She couldn’t imagine seeing a reminder of someone’s betrayal every time you looked in the mirror.

And yet, she would have to get used to the idea. The way Simeon brandished his knife mere days ago – savage, demonic, plunging and twisting into her skin, with a sick grin to match – was definitely going to leave a scar.

“It was a clean cut, as you can see. I didn’t notice until it was pointed out to me. Didn’t lessen the shame of it.”

“I can imagine.”

“The wound healed rather quickly, to answer your question.” Olberic gazed into the distance, laughing darkly and clasping his hands. “But I often wished he had the decency to end it after I lost the duel. ‘Tis the way of things in war. It would have spared me much agony.”

“Don’t say that,” Primrose said automatically, but she knew exactly how he felt.

“The thought has since passed. And it… helps to have companionship.” Olberic’s cheeks took on a dusty pink hue, and Primrose took the opportunity to slide closer and gently rest her head on his arm. The leather pauldron was surprisingly soft to the touch. 

“That’s why you’re going to meet with him, right? To find answers? Closure?” 

“That is my intent.” In those words held the weight of Olberic’s hopes and dreams and fears and nightmares and anger and forgiveness, of the last eight years of cursing his fate and a renewed vow of purpose. His eyes shone in the twilight, a man on a mission, and gods help him would he see it fulfilled.

Closure: that was what they all sought. But Primrose couldn’t help comparing herself to Olberic, noble Olberic, protector of the weak and pillar of fortitude. Here, with her own hands, in the town she once called home, she had killed a man in cold blood – despicable tyrant though he was – and now her third mark on a twisted quest for revenge had surfaced, the leader of the gang of crows, who just happened to be her childhood sweetheart and the one who—

The feeling of a large arm around her shoulders shook her out of the moment, Olberic’s deep voice drawing her back into the dusky evening and away from negative thoughts spiraling like birds of prey.

“We’re on this path with you, Primrose.”

“Are you sure you want to be?”

The corners of Olberic’s mouth turned down. “I have no doubts.”

“I know you don’t say that lightly.” Primrose drew herself closer to Olberic’s side, inhaling the familiar scent of sweat and iron and crisp mountain air. “But you will let me know if you change your mind.”

Olberic huffed a laugh. “Doubtful. But I shall do as you ask.”

The first firefly of the evening flashed just past Primrose’s nose.

“Would you show me how to take care of a blade sometime?” she asked quietly. “I want to keep my father’s knife in good shape. It is…”

“You need not explain. I would be honored.”

“You’re too honorable for your own good.”

“Perhaps,” Olberic smiled. 

They sat in companionable silence, counting the dancing fireflies until Tressa came to fetch them for dinner, hands on her hips indignantly. Primrose caught Olberic’s arm as he made to exit the garden, smile reaching her eyes.

“So. Tomorrow evening?”

“I’ll plan on it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh man I've been off the fic train for too long and this was hella rusty, many apologies. /leaps into the void
> 
> I'm hanging out at [viiipath](https://viiipath.tumblr.com/) on tumblr if you want to join me! Or send Octopath prompts! or both! whoop!


End file.
